


Keeping Watch In The Night

by Mars_McKie



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Charity Auctions, F/M, First Dates, M/M, Musicals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mars_McKie/pseuds/Mars_McKie
Summary: Inspired by and for godsliltippy over on Tumblr.After you place the winning bid at a charity auction, you go on your date and take in a musical with Virgil Tracy in the historic West End of London.





	Keeping Watch In The Night

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't intended to post this until tomorrow, but oh well, I'm awake now! Proper proof reading shall happen tomorrow!
> 
> Started by godsliltippy over on Tumblr here- http://godsliltippy.tumblr.com/post/171256636561/charity-auction-episode-please-win-a-date-with
> 
> I tried to keep the Reader Insert fairly gender neutral. It's been quite a while since I last wrote a Reader Insert fanfic!

_“Oooooh ladies, do I have a treat for you! Let me introduce Virgil Tracy! Not only is this dark haired drink of water handy with a set of power tools, he also dabbles in painting and playing the piano! Who wouldn’t love spending a day with such a talented young man?”_ ~ godsliltippy

* * *

  
The taxi ride through the centre of London crawls along at rush hour pace, and after the day you’ve had you know you should be using this as an opportunity to relax with the change of speed, yet all your mind can do is stress about your day at work and worry that you’re now going to be late for your date.

Your chest hammers a strange rhythm at the memory of the Charity Auction. You’re still not sure what had possessed you to bid on a date with Virgil Tracy: son of a billionaire, pilot of Thunderbird 2, and _total hottie_. Sure, when you’d heard a date with him was up for auction you dreamt about it, but you thought that when the time came you wouldn’t have the nerve to go through with it. As it was, the night of the Charity Auction, not only had you placed your bid and nearly melted into the floor (or, perhaps more accurately, you wanted the ground to swallow you up) when Virgil turned his gaze on you and smiled, but for your bid to then win! You don’t even want to think about the price you’d bid!

The traffic lights on Piccadilly Circus finally change and the taxi pulls onto Shaftsbury Avenue. Your heart skips a beat as you spot Virgil standing on the pavement. As yet unseen by him, you are able to admire him- he is wearing the same black, two-piece suit, white shirt and blue tie that he had worn to the Auction and his black hair is styled into that iconic rooster quiff, his face all chiselled cheekbones and that dimpled chin you could lose yourself in. His hands are in his trouser pockets and he looks totally cool as he looks for you in the crowd.

Despite considering telling the taxi driver to drive on, you instead settle with the driver and climb nervously out. Virgil clocks you (how can it be that he can recognise you despite only seeing you once at the auction?) and that heart-stopping smile is back as he walks towards you.

“Hey,” he says. His soft expression is suave and slightly knowing, you decide, as if he can tell you’re going weak at the knees before him.

“Hi,” you reply. You silently curse yourself as your mouth completely dries up. Why does your mind have to be racing so fast? “I- I’m sorry I’m late-”

“Ha, don’t worry about it, you’re not late. I’ve just picked up our tickets...” Virgil says. He flashes the tickets and extends his arm to you. You take it gratefully as you feel your knees buckle. He guides you into the Queen’s Theatre as a Manager rushes up and guides the pair of you towards a private bar area occupied with only a privileged few.

As a waiter offers you both a glass of champagne, you would love to be fully in this moment, yet the stress of the day steadily ebbs and flows in your mind.

 _Enjoy it_ , you think. _I certainly paid enough for it!_

There is an announcement over the speakers that the auditorium is open and the show will start in thirty minutes. The crowd in the room thins and drinks in hand, Virgil guides you over to a private corner and you drop gratefully into a comfy seat. Virgil does the same opposite you. With a concealed deep breath, you smile and focus on the man in front of you.

Virgil licks his lips and leans towards you. “So, I’m curious. I didn’t get a chance to speak to you at the Charity Auction...”

“Oh?” You prompt.

“What is it that you do for a living?”

His question is intended politely, but after today you feel your smile falter. Virgil can read it in your face as he suddenly changes tact- “Or should I not ask?”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s just-” you cast a hand around, trying to wave it away. “Today was a kind of stressful day.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Virgil offers. You certainly hadn’t intended on talking about it, but seeing Virgil staring at you with a look of full earnest on his face, you let it all out. You talk about the stress of your work and your home life, your worries and concerns, and for his part Virgil listens. You eventually stop when the quarter hour call comes over the speakers and you realise you’ve been ranting for the best part of fifteen minutes.

“I’m so sorry,” you gush as Virgil takes a sip of his champagne. “Here’s me complaining about my life when you work in dangerous environments every day-”

“You don’t have to be sorry for that,” Virgil counters. “Being a part of International Rescue is so wildly different to any other job on the planet, but you deal with a different kind of stress and that is by no means insignificant. And from the sound of it you are doing an amazing job of keeping it all together.”

With his words, it is like a spring becomes uncoiled in your chest. Virgil hadn’t offered any kind of solution to your problems, but he had been kind enough to listen to your problems and to validate them.

You take a sip of your drink and, deciding that you have spent long enough talking about your problems, you cast your mind around for a change of subject. Given that he has just brought up the Thunderbirds, your mind settles on that.

“I guess you must do a lot of travelling, being a part of International Rescue?”

One of those dark, thick eyebrows shoots up as he laughs, “Ha! You could say that!”

“Do you have a favourite place that you’ve been?” you press, trailing your fingers up the side of your glass.

Virgil considers your question. “I always make a note of places I like the look of when I’m on rescues, with the idea of going back and enjoying them properly without a rescue looming over us, but I never find the time. We go to some extreme places -the Arctic Circle, the Sahara Desert, you name it- so perhaps somewhere quiet on the Mediterranean with an art gallery?”

“Oh yeah, they said at the auction they said you painted,” you recollect. “I would love to see some of your stuff.”

“I dabble these days; I don’t get much of an opportunity with- sorry, there I go, talking about rescues again!” Virgil grins and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m aware it must get so boring and repetitive to hear me say that-”

“Oh no, it sounds exciting! I mean-,” you correct yourself. “-Terrifying, but exciting.”

Virgil nods and gazes wistfully into the distance. “Yeah, but I would never be able to see myself doing anything else.”

His expression is enigmatic as his thoughts clearly take him elsewhere. You wonder if perhaps Virgil could ever imagine a time where he didn’t have to run all over the world helping others and could selfishly enjoy himself. You decide to start that with tonight.

“So, somewhere on the Mediterranean, huh?” you repeat and Virgil locks eyes with you as you start to plan. “How about Florence? It has a lot of olde worlde-ness to it, some good art galleries, nice countryside and close to the sea...”

Virgil presses his lips together and smiles appreciatively. “Hmm... sounds good.”

You discuss holiday destinations for a while longer until the Manager approaches to chivvy both of you into the auditorium. Virgil offers his arm to you again and you give a flirty smile as you take it, far more confident and relaxed than you were before with your stress relieved and the champagne in your system.

“Have you ever seen Les Mis before?” Virgil asks as he leads you down a corridor.

“Kind of,” you say. “I’ve seen the film that was made -like- fifty years ago, but I’ve never seen it in the West End.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen it here either, but I’ve heard it’s the longest running show in the West End,” Virgil states over his shoulder to you, looking seriously seductive in the process.

Your seats are in a box on the right side of the stage, offering you intimate isolation with your date. On your right, the red, white and blue Les Mis logo is projected onto the gauze. A look to your left and the whole rest of the audience seems to be staring at you in your box.

“It feels like we’re on display,” you murmur. Virgil glances at the audience, then to you.

“I guess I’m used to it, but sorry if it feels a bit intimidating,” Virgil whispers, and his eyebrows quirk in such a way that you want to brush your fingertips along them. There are a few flashes as cameras aimed at your box, but just as quickly hidden as ushers move to tell the punters off.

 _That’s right_ , you think brazenly. _Virgil Tracy is on a date with me!_

You vaguely wonder if perhaps your date might make the tabloids tomorrow, but the thought slips away as the ushers retreat and a second later the Overture booms. The house lights fade and the murmur of the audience dies down as the gauze bleeds through and their attention is drawn away from the celebrity and his date and onto the action on stage.

Throughout the act, you start to notice Virgil mouthing along with the lyrics. By the time the music shifts to _Castle On A Cloud_ , Virgil sees you smiling bemused at him. He mouths a cheeky “ _sorry!_ ” and keeps his lips closed from then on, although you can tell he’s itching to join in.

With tremendous applause, Act One rounds up with _One Day More_ and the house lights come up. You blink as the light returns and turn to Virgil.

“Let’s get a drink,” he says with a slight nod of his head. You walk with him back to the private bar.

“I saw you joining in back there,” you state, your eyes twinkling knowingly. “Are you that much of a fan? That’s why you chose this date, wasn’t it?”

Virgil gives a bashful shrug and admits, “I might have played Inspector Javert when I was in high school.”

“Really!?”

His expression is so bashfully cute. “Yeah, I did the whole _Do not forget me, do not forget my name, 24601,_ ” he sings in a wonderful, deep baritone. “Heh, I used to annoy my brother John up on our space station just singing _Stars, in your multitude..._ ”

You laugh, and know that if Virgil ever turned up at your workplace to sing you show-tunes then you would absolutely melt on the spot. His voice is like velvet and him singing so brazenly in the bar for you feels magical!

You both drink your glasses of wine and you question Virgil further about his role as Javert, until the time comes that the announcement summons you back into the auditorium. Back in the box, Virgil shrugs off his tuxedo jacket and you get a glimpse of defined muscles under the thin shirt. Act Two commences, and as Javert gets caught by the students you spot Virgil nodding along with the lines. He spots you smirking at him, and he laces his fingers through yours in your lap before turning his attention back, oddly intimate and content. You watch as one of the students tie Javert’s hand behind his back and muse over the idea of tying Virgil up in the same way!

You feel his fingers clench in yours at Javert’s death scene, though this is the only time you notice it. For the most part, Virgil is a model date for the musical (you had worried he might be bored by it, or perhaps he would be the type to constantly check his phone, but his full attention had been on you and the show), though you can tell he still wants to singalong.

You both stand and applaud after the finale and you feel a sad rush as you realise the night is coming to an end.

“One last drink to avoid the crowd?” you suggest as the audience surge towards the exits, wishing extend the night with this perfect man a bit longer.

“I think I can manage that,” says Virgil, checking the time as he pulls his jacket back on.

“Are you staying in a hotel tonight?” you ask as you head to the bar, now the only occupants.

Virgil shakes his head. “No, I’m flying back to base tonight. It was a big operation to organise us five getting the time off to do this charity auction, but it’s for a good cause.”

“Should you be flying under the influence?” you tease, toasting him with your fresh glass of wine.

“It’s jush as well I’ll be flying; I’m too drunk t’ drive!” Virgil slurs jokingly. “I’ll be fine; I could fly Thunderbird 2 in my sleep. I have flown her in my dreams numerous times!”

Your smile is slightly grim and you know this evening that you have come to appreciate even more the work done by these incredible people; the life that they lose out on through contributing their time to helping others, and this charity event was really another extension of that for them. “Listen, I really enjoyed tonight, so... thank you for taking part in the auction.”

“And thank _you_ for supporting it,” Virgil says, and his smile is all warm. “I had a great time too. It might sound terrible, but it felt good to have a night off.”

“You give your whole life for others; the world can give you one night off,” you say firmly, and that enigmatic look is back on his face. You realise then that that kind smile is not for himself, but for the benefit of those around him.

You could honestly stay lost in his eyes all night, but all too soon the Manager approaches to say that your car is outside. Virgil is every bit the gentleman in escorting you to your vehicle and you pause on the curb.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” you say, perhaps slightly formally.

“And you,” says Virgil. He leans in and pecks you on the cheek, his hand on your arm and his lips causing your skin to burn bright red. “Have a safe journey.”

“And you,” you gush back. You climb into the back of the car and Virgil waves you off. _Yeah_ , you think to yourself. _Tonight was a good night._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember if the Queen's Theatre has boxes or not, but for the sake of this fiction it does!
> 
> The title came from the song _Stars_ in the show.
> 
> I'm gonna try and do one for each of the brothers, as per the original prompt, but life is being horrid at the moment so sorry if it's a long wait.


End file.
